


National Lampoon's High School Field Trip

by ciaconnaa, tempestaurora



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Crack, Field Trip, Gen, Peter Parker's Field Trip to Stark Industries, so much crack the police might bust you for possession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:02:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24423217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ciaconnaa/pseuds/ciaconnaa, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tempestaurora/pseuds/tempestaurora
Summary: Peter Parker and his class take a field trip to Stark Industries.Sorta.Kinda?He's not really sure what to call the experience if he's being honest.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Avengers Team, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, referenced: May Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 170
Kudos: 420





	National Lampoon's High School Field Trip

**Author's Note:**

> important housekeeping notes:
> 
> 1\. only ciaconnaa thinks the title is funny. tempestaurora does not understand the reference.  
> 2\. we started this fic on the 25th of February, 2019. we finished it today. yes, we're tired.

Miss Clarke had printed off the field trip permission slips on simple white paper. By the time Peter gets it signed, a good chunk of it is red. It has May’s name written in over-the-top girly forgery, complete with a heart at the end of the signature.

“Wow,” Ned murmurs, snatching it from Peter’s hands as they head up the front steps of the school. He pulls a face when the wind blows and catches the scent of one too many spritzes of May’s strong perfume. “Dude, why did you drown this in perfume?”

Peter groans. “To cover up the smell of death. I had to have Uncle Pool sign it and he had blood on his pen.”

“Why did he have blood on his pen.”

“He gouged an eye out with it as part of his early morning workout.”

Ned gives a dreamy sigh. “May’s boyfriend is so cool.”

“He’s... something.”

The two of them continue to Miss Clarke’s classroom, Ned bouncing with energy with every passing locker, and Peter wilting and decaying with every painful step. They’re one of the last few to arrive with exception of Michelle, who strolls in with a sketchbook under her arm and a pen behind her ear.

When Ned and Peter look at her, eyebrows raised in question, she simply shrugs and says, “I anticipate a crisis.”

Peter can’t really argue with that.

The bus ride over there is uneventful. Except for the parts where it isn’t and Peter considers taking a note from May’s boyfriend and jamming Michelle’s pen in his ear in hopes of puncturing his brain, causing an aneurysm and immediate, blissful death. Due to his horrible cover story of Stark Industries Intern the entire class seems to think he’s the expert on Tony Stank and the rest of the Avengers. Which like, he is, but that doesn’t mean he wants to talk about it constantly. He tries to dodge their ridiculous questions with bullshit answers.

“Have you met any Avengers besides Stark?”

“Just the Hulk. I was trying to get him to toss me off the Queensboro bridge to avoid Smith’s Chem test.”

“What do you think Captain America’s like?”

“I mean, technically, a zombie.”

“Do you think Black Widow will be there?”

“Black Widow died four years ago.”

“Penis, be real: have you even met Tony Stark?”

“I couldn’t even identify him in a line up."

Halfway there, Peter opens the window and begs Ned for a distraction, only to have Michelle pull him by the collar of his shirt when he tries to hike his leg out said window.

When they do arrive, filing into the building in the first glorious silence since the day started, they are greeted by the world’s grumpiest secretary. Peter recognizes the trademark scowl of one Jessica Jones as she pointlessly staples a stack of papers to the desk.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” she mumbles under her breath before she pulls away from her desk. “Why are there children here?”

The other secretary, a much happier woman due to the fact that she was not slapped with desk duty for her PI work, gives the group a smile. “Welcome, Midtown Tech! I’m Samantha!” she says in a voice that reminds him of tour guide Barbie from the Toy Story movies. “I’m gonna get you settled in for the tour!”

She reaches over Jessica’s workspace to grab some visitor passes (“ugh, don’t touch me”) before she starts passing them around. “I’m sure you all are wondering how a high tech company like Stark Town handles their security. There are five levels of security: Alpha Dog, Betta Fish, Gamma Ray, Delta Nu, and Epipen. Alpha Dog is reserved for Miss Potts and Mr. Stark exclusively, while Epipen is typically reserved for lowly, one-time visitors such as yourselves. Our head of security takes things very seriously, so make sure you have your pass on at all times.”

“Um, Miss?” Harley Keener asks, holding the pass up. “These are laminated Bed Bath and Beyond coupons.”

“Uh-huh!”

“...Well, alright then.”

“What level security are the Avengers?” someone calls out.

“The Avengers have special passes,” Samantha explains. “I don’t actually know what they are.”

Ned looks to Peter expectantly as he pulls out his keys to show a piece of ancient, archaic technology.

“Blockbuster video card.”

“Ohhhhhhhh.”

Samantha gestures to a set of scanners that block the group from the elevators. “Scan your coupons and we’ll be on our way!”

The students line up single file, following Samantha to the scanner. She goes first, swiping her Delta Nu card, and smiling widely as a voice from on high announces, “Two-For-One Breakfast Sub at Subway.” The light turns green and she steps past.

Spotting the surprised looks of the students, Samantha waves an overly cheery hand. “That’s just our AI.”

“No, it isn’t,” Peter says, from the back of the group.

Samantha points at him with a grin. “You’re right! Our AI, FRIDAY, is routinely shut down in the lobby when Mr Barton’s around. Come on, now!”

The group unsurely steps up to the plate, scanning their passes one by one. Above them, the distinctly-Clint-Barton voice of the not-AI announces them as they go.

“Pink sweater, 20% off at Bed, Bath and Beyond.”

“No upper body strength, 50% off at Lush—ooh that’s a good one.”

“Teenage boy riddled with toxic masculinity and an early onset of male pattern baldness, 10% off at Target.”

“Hey, watch it!” Flash yells up at the ceiling.

“Why are you yelling at the ceiling?” Jessica Jones hisses from her desk. “That’s so fucking dumb. It’s an AI, it’s everywhere.”

“It’s just Clint Barton—”

“It’s an AI,” Jones retorts.

“I can see him through the vent slats—”

“Hey!” At Jessica’s shout, pushing her chair back as she stands, Flash seems to sink into himself, eyes wide with fear. “If that dumb fucking archer who uses a bow and arrow against aliens with guns wants to be a talking voice in the ceiling, you should let him!” The grip on her stapler is so hard her knuckles turn white, and with a shout she lobs it at Flash’s head. Blood splatters and Flash’s body collapses to the floor, a puddle forming quickly around his head. The wound is deep and bright red, and he’s dead in moments. “So fucking insensitive,” Jessica says, shaking her head as she sits back down.

“What was that?” Peter asks, blinking from where he was watching a pigeon nesting on the outside window ledge.

Jessica waves a hand. “Nothing. Scan your card.”

“Oh, right!” The class has all scanned their coupons by this point, waiting for him by the elevator.

Peter swipes his Blockbuster card, and snorts as Clint says, “Welcome back to Hell, Spider-Bitch.”

Peter salutes the ceiling before joining his classmates.

“Spider-Bitch?” Flash asks, leaning against the wall.

“I’m agoraphobic,” Peter replies.

In the middle of the group, Abe rings a bell for comedic purposes. Peter shoots him a finger gun.

The elevator opens to reveal Captain America, standing in his 2012-era suit, despite it being 2018 and him owning like, four better ones. The students gape and gasp, and Cap leans against the side of the elevator, throwing a smile out to them and pointing in a familiar way.

“So you’ve just met your childhood hero,” he starts, as one student faints and Ned starts whispering _ohmygodohmygodohmygod_ under his breath. They push their way into the elevator, as Samantha wastes her breath introducing Steve Rogers. He spots Peter as she talks and claps a hand against his shoulder. “Peter! It’s good you’re here – a good school trip is paramount to a young student’s learning, just like a hot lunch. Did you take the bus here or did you swing?”

“Uh, Captain Rog—”

Steve laughs. “Swinging’s dangerous you know, just like many of your extracurricular activities. Make sure that you always have your parachute installed and are ready to call for help at a moment’s notice.” He glances around the elevator, the whirring quiet behind the awed and confused silence of the students. “Never hesitate to call for help if you need it, kids,” he says, pointing at Cindy Moon as he goes. “New York’s finest are always on your side.”

There’s quiet for a moment before Michelle asks, her crisis sketchbook ready and waiting, “Hey, Captain? What did you mean by Peter swinging?”

“Like Spiderman?” someone else calls out.

Steve hesitates before looking over to Peter, his hand firm on the kid’s shoulder. “So you’ve just had your secret identity revealed by your childhood hero.”

Peter almost tells him that Tony Stank was his childhood hero, not Captain America, but the elevator dings and opens on a training floor of the tower, bright light streaming in through large, spacious windows. Standing inside already is Natasha Romanoff and Sam Wilson, the former of the two stretching as the latter adjusts the straps of his wings around his chest.

“Is this the tour?” Sam asks as the kids wander out. “What are you doing wearing your old suit?”

Captain America shrugs as he moves to the front. “I’ve been informed my ass looks great in it.”

“They were lying,” Harley Keener replies.

Steve claps his hands, facing the group with his PSA-approved smile. “Now I’m sure your teachers are doing their best, keeping you healthy and strong in your gym classes, but if you want to be strong like me, you have exercise every day.” He points at a boy who raised his hand. “Yes?”

“I heard you got strong from a serum, not from exercise.”

“That’s partly true. I got strong when a radioactive spider bit me—”

“No, you didn’t,” Sam corrects.

“When a terrorist organisation abducted me in Afghanistan—”

“That’s Tony’s origin story,” Natasha comments.

“When I found peace and contentment with a woman named Kayla Silverfox, before it was shattered by the return of my vicious brother who murdered her. My thirst for revenge propelled me into the Weapon X program, where I underwent a painful procedure to bond my broken bones with adamantium, making me virtually indestructible and more than a match for Victor, whom I killed.”

The room is silent for a moment, before a voice says, “Wait a minute. Isn’t that _my_ origin story?”

Wolverine moves out from behind the group, his adamantium claws shifting in and out of his skin over and over again. Peter has seen him use them to slice salami and make salads. He regularly uses them to open beer bottles, and Peter himself has asked the Avenger to rip apart his homework sheets so he can blame it on a dog.

“Oh,” Steve says. “You’re right, Hugh. I think I just exercised a lot. Now!” Steve claps his hands. “In order to help you grow big and strong, I thought we’d give you the number one test of stamina, strength, and skill: the pacer test.”

Amid a few groans, Flash says, “Man, this fucking sucks! I’m here to see cool Avengers tech, not do gym class.”

“Language, bitch,” Sam retorts. “You’ll do what Captain America tells you to, or there’ll be consequences.”

Flash rolls his eyes. “Oh, I’m so scared. What are you gonna do? Make me wait on the bus?”

Sam blinks, lowers his goggles from where they rested on his forehead, and runs full sprint at Flash, who screams at such a high pitch only dogs can hear him by the end of it. Sam’s wings spread suddenly, as he grabs the kid, and then they’re hurtling towards the panoramic windows, Falcon busting through them without hesitation and soaring into the air. For a second, there’s silence, and then Flash’s body falls past the window, and a distant crash can be heard, followed by a car alarm.

Minutes later, they’re all lined up in their non-gym-appropriate clothes at one end of the room. Captain America decides to run it with them, and Sam is rolling neon yellow tape across the broken window. Natasha presses the play button on the stereo.

After the instructions, they start running from one end of the room to the other. At every beep they jog across, the noises getting closer and closer together. In every level there’s ten runs to the opposite wall, and the group goes back and forth, Peter and Steve leading the pack.

Around level three, Ned taps out. At five, Michelle does, and at five-point-seven, Flash huffs and collapses at the side of the room. One by one, the students give up, but Peter and Steve keep running back and forth, faster and faster and faster.

“Jesus, Pete!” Sam yells from the wall. “Who knew you had it in you?”

Most people stop by level thirteen, but Peter doesn’t mind. He keeps going, speeding up by Steve’s side as they sprint back and forth between the beeps. At level twenty of twenty-one, Steve looks over to him. “Hey,” he huffed. _Beep_ . “Isn’t this—” _Beep_ . “Isn’t it gonna be suspicious—” _Beep_ . “—if you can keep up—” _Beep_ . “—with a literal super soldier?” _Beep_.

His class is watching him in amazement, twenty minutes in and barely breaking a sweat. _Beep_ . “You’re right,” he says, and then Peter purposefully trips himself up, sprawling on the ground. _Beep. Level twenty one._

He breathes heavily, a little worn out from running three miles in twenty minutes, and sits up, Steve jogging to a stop beside him.

“Thank God,” Steve whispers, his chest rapidly rising and falling. “I was almost done. Couldn’t have you show me up.”

Peter lets out a laugh. “Really? I could’ve done this all day.”

Steve helps him up, clapping a hand on his back before stretching and turning to the class. “Good job, kids! A good pacer test in the morning is a great way to start your day and keep yourself fit and healthy! Natasha, I know you wanted to teach a little self-defence to the class.”

The students perk up as Natasha takes the floor and Steve flops into the corner. Peter sits by Ned’s side as Natasha introduces herself, and the next half an hour of their apparent gym class.

“Okay,” she sighs, sounding like she’s already done with this whole tour. “Who here knows how to use a gun?”

Peter, solely, raises his hand.

Natasha narrows her eyes at him. “Throwing a gun at a bank robber does not constitute knowing how to use a gun.”

Peter continues to raise his hand.

“I mean….” he finally gets out when Natasha won’t stop staring. “You pull a trigger. How hard can it be?”

She snaps her fingers, before gesturing him to accompany her at the head of the group. “Thanks for volunteering for the demonstration, Parker. Front and centre.”

He does as she asks, catching the handgun she tosses with him at ease. “Guns are the easiest way to protect yourself. If you know how to shoot the damn thing. Peter, stand there.”

“Are you gonna shoot him?” Flash asks.

Natasha shrugs, clicking the safety off her own gun. “Not if he dodges.” Then she raises the gun with zero warning, three bangs echoing off the walls as three bullets shoot towards Peter. He yelps before backflipping away, the bullets passing through the air where he stood before.

“Good,” Natasha says, and then she’s ducking as Peter shoots one back. It flies through the gaping hole in the window. “I didn’t tell you to shoot me,” she tells him.

“You shot me first!” Peter cries.

“Incorrect,” Natasha replies, straightening. “I shot _at_ you. You dodged the bullets. Which is very good of you, looks like your extracurriculars are paying off. Now, if I hadn’t dodged, wouldn’t that have been a much more efficient way of taking me down?”

“I don’t know,” Peter says, and then he lobs the gun. It hits Natasha square in the side of the head, and she flinches back for a moment. Then she blinks at him, sending another bullet in his direction, which he sidesteps with ease. “If I’d thrown harder, that might’ve worked.”

Natasha sighs a long-suffering kind of sigh and gestures him back to the group. “Anyone else want to take me on?” she asks.

“Only an idiot would want that after you shot at a teenager,” Sam says as Miss Clarke seems to have some sort of migraine at the back of the room, watching the events unfold.

“I want to!” Flash yells. “Please! Pick me!”

Sam rolls his eyes and Natasha gestures for Flash to stand on the mat. “What’s your name?” she asks, as if she hasn’t done a full background check on every one of Peter’s classmates.

“Flash Thompson.”

“That’s a dumb name,” she says. Natasha picks up the nun chucks from the mat and swivels them in her hands; the spin and spiral about as she passes them between hands and around her back. “What’s your actual name?”

Flash frowns. “Flash is my name.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You’re sticking with that story, huh? Now, Flash, do you know how to use nunchucks?”

“Well, no,” he says, and she nods, cutting him off.

“Thought so.” In a series of quick movements, the nunchucks are flying towards Flash’s face, barely missing as she swivels out a foot to knock his legs out from beneath him. Flash goes sprawling, and from above, there’s cheering.

“Thanks, Clint,” Nat says, smiling as she straightens.

“No problem, babe,” Clint calls back from the vents.

A kid raises their hand. “Are you and Hawkeye dating?”

Natasha shakes her head. “No, I’m inexplicably into a man I rarely interact with despite the long, drawn-out and intimate relationship I have with my best friend.”

“And I have a secret family!” Clint adds.

“Exactly,” Natasha says. “Don’t tell anyone.” She looks back to Flash, who’s climbing back to his feet. “Are you going to tell anyone about Clint’s secret family?”

“Clint Barton has a secret family?” Flash asks, rubbing at his temple.

Natasha’s eyes widen and she growls, “I thought we just made it clear. Do not mention Clint’s secret family.”

Flash flinches back. “I’m sorry, Miss Black Widow! I won’t mention Hawkeye’s secret family again!”

“What did I just say?” Natasha whirls the nunchucks back into action, stepping towards Flash. In one quick movement, she slams the nunchuck stick into the side of his head and he collapses to the ground, a dent in his skull and blood soaking the mat. Natasha shakes her head at Flash’s dead body.

“That was a little harsh, don’t you think?” Ned whispers at the back of the group.

Peter shrugs. “It’s understandable,” he says. “Flash is clearly a detriment to the privacy of Clint’s secret family; Laura, Lila, Cooper and Nathaniel, who live in Springfield, Missouri, right off the E Farm Road 106, really need to be kept quiet.”

“Alright!” Samantha says, clapping her hands. “Everyone thank Black Widow, Captain America, and Falcon for their wonderful class, and we’ll head onto the next part of the tour!”

The class choruses their thanks and starts out the room, the three Avengers waving them off.

“Are we gonna meet any other Avengers?” Flash asks the tour guide as they all pile back into the elevator.

Samantha smiles knowingly and winks at him. “Oh, you’ll see!"

The elevator whirs to life and heads further up the tower. “We’re now headed to the Avengers museum,” Samantha says as they go. “We’ll have an extra special guest to lead you around!”

At the elevator’s ding, the doors open, revealing Spiderman in the classic crouched Spiderman pose, with his hands stretched out as if he’s using webshooters. The class goes wild, crowding around the masked hero as he straightens and waves to them.

“Welcome to the Avengers museum!” Spiderman says, and Peter feels a wave of excitement over meeting the superhero. “Now, I’m not technically an Avenger, and I’m not really cool enough to be in this museum anyway, so you won’t find my history here! But, we do have a history for all the official Avengers!”

“Hey, Mr Spiderman?” Ned asks as they start into the room.

“Yes, random school child?”

“Your voice sounds different.”

Spiderman waves a hand. “Oh, I’ve just got a cold. It’s nothing. Now, the first half of the museum is dedicated to the best Avenger we have: James Rhodes’ War Machine. We’ll start off with his baby photos and work our way round—yes? You have a question?”

“You really don’t sound like Spiderman,” Cindy Moon says.

“Yeah, and isn’t Spiderman, I don’t know, leaner?” Flash asks.

Spiderman steps menacingly into Flash’s space and says in a low voice, “Spiderman’s got a clean track record of no kills. You want to be the one that changes that?”

Flash gulps audibly before Spiderman steps back, gesturing to the wall of War Machine photos, suit designs and history. Peter pauses to look at the baby photos and the letter Rhodes wrote to Santa when he was nine. Further along the room, Michelle studies his tax records and Ned gushes over a used tissue, with a plaque that says _found in the trash, one of James Rhodes’ early works from his abstract sculpture phase_.

“Hey Spiderman!” someone calls out as the hero leads them from War Machine’s side of the room to the Iron Man section. This one takes up the other half of the room, with a small space at the end for the other eight Avengers. “Do a flip!”

“Oh, no,” Spiderman says, waving a hand. “I’ve been thinking of changing my schtick from flipping to… casually walking places.”

“You’re not Spiderman!” Flash calls.

“Watch it,” Spiderman growls, pointing at Flash.

“He’s right,” Harley Keener says. The room goes silent and looks over at him. _How long has he been here?_ Peter wonders. “That’s Tony Stank.”

A murmur rushes through the class. _That’s Tony Stank_ , they all whisper, looking at one another. Ned’s eyes bug out of his head and Peter gasps.

“Tony Stank is Spiderman?”

“No!” Flash says. “Tony Stank is pretending to be Spiderman! What did you do with the real Spiderman?”

At that, Spiderman – Tony? – strides towards Flash Thompson. “Activate Instant Kill Mode,” he says, and the whites of his eyes turn black, two evil red dots replacing them.

Peter cries out and uses his webshooters to swing in between the two. “No!” he says when he lands. “Spiderman! No Instant Killing!”

Spiderman regards Peter. “What about long, drawn-out killing?”

Peter pulls a face. “That’s worse. Why don’t you show us the Captain America section? I hear you stole his shield once.”

Spiderman sniffs and deactivates Instant Kill Mode. He nods the class over to the end of the room and they squeeze in to see the exhibition behind glass, eight strips of space about two feet wide each for the other Avengers. They get thinner and thinner as they reach the end, with Scarlet Witch’s section just being a thick red line with the words Wanda Maximoff vertically, and a picture of Natasha Romanoff sitting at its base. In Black Widow’s section, there is also a photo of Natasha Romanoff. Peter shrugs. They’re basically the same person, anyway.

Spiderman shows them around the museum, and soon enough it’s time to go and he’s waving them off into the elevator.

“Thanks for the tour Mr Stank!” Peter calls out as he leaves.

“No worries, Peter!” Spiderman replies. “See you on patrol later!”

The elevator doors shut behind them and Betty Brant shakes her head. “I don’t know what you guys were thinking. That totally wasn’t Tony Stank.”

There’s humming agreement amongst the class. How could they be so stupid? That wasn’t Tony Stank: Iron Man. That was clearly Spiderman on an off-day with a sore throat.

“I’ll tell you what, though,” Peter says. “That War Machine exhibit was really good.” The class nods in response.

“Next!” Samantha announces as they step out of the elevator. “The labs! Oh—wait. Hm.” She steps down the hallway, looking through the laboratory windows at the gaping black hole of death on the other side of them. There seems to be a low, ominous chanting from somewhere down the hall, a black, glowing crystal being held up by a man in a dark cloak, and people screaming from inside the room. The black hole pulses and a high-pitch scream echoes.

Samantha shakes her head. “It seems they’re busy! We’ll stop off on the way back if there’s time.” She ushers everyone back into the elevator. “Now! Time for a very special guest!”

“Another Avenger?” someone calls out.

“Is it Loki?” someone else asks.

Samantha, for the first time that day, and possibly ever in her life, frowns. “Why would Loki be here? He attacked New York with an alien army and killed thousands. Who would sign off on letting him freely roam around Avengers Tower? Let alone in New York?”

The class pauses. That’s a good point. He is, at this moment, probably locked up on Asgard somewhere, or dead, as are his two natural dispositions.

Rather, when the elevator opens, Thor Odinson is waiting, grinning and waving his hands wildly. He holds a piece of card in his hands which reads PETER’S CLASS, though it’s hard to read with all the waving.

“WELCOME! WELCOME!” Thor shouts. His voice is naturally double the volume of anyone else’s. “COME ON IN! WE HAVE A VERY SPECIAL TREAT FOR YOU TODAY!” The class excitedly swarms around the god, and he seems to love the attention. “WHO WOULD LIKE TO FIND OUT IF THEY’RE WORTHY TO LIFT MY HAMMER?!”

The class cheers, and Samantha instructs them to take turns. Thor drops the hammer on the ground, making it crack with impact.

“WHOSOEVER HOLDS THIS HAMMER, IF HE – OR SHE, THEY, MAYBE, IS MORE INCLUSIVE – BE WORTHY, SHALL POSSESS THE POWER OF THOR,” Thor yells.

One by one, they take turns at lifting the hammer. Flash can’t make it move an inch; Ned strains and strains, but nothing happens; and even Peter, shooting his webs up to the ceiling for better grip, can’t get it to move at all.

“But I can lift ten tons,” he pouts to the god as he steps away.

“AH, YOUNG PETER,” Thor cries. “YOUNG MAN OF SPIDERS.” No one is paying attention, as Betty Brant is attempting to lift the hammer, and she swears she made it move, just a little. “YOU’RE SIMPLY NOT WORTHY. NO ONE IS! ONLY I, THOR, GOD OF THUNDER, CAN MOVE THE HAMMER.”

Flash grumbles in the corner, mad that he can’t be king. “But I deserve to be king,” he complained. “Look at my hair! This is the hair of royalty. No peasant could have beautiful hair such as this.” He flips his hair and moans some more, until Wolverine moves out from behind the tour group, where he’d been evidently following along.

“Shut your mouth,” he orders, but Flash huffs and just continues to complain. _Oh he should be a king_ this, and _oh he’s born for leadership_ that. Eventually, Hugh loses his cool and his claws shoot out from his knuckles. He runs full pelt towards Flash, a guttural yell breaking out from his throat.

His claws slash through Flash’s skin, ripping into long, brown strips that are spotted with the blood that sprays. He attacks, again and again, flaying the skin off the boy before he moves in for the stabs.

“You! Are! Not! Meant! To! Be! King!” Wolverine yells, crying with each word.

The attack is so gory, so vicious, that the entire class stops to watch in disgust and awe. Blood paints the walls, Flash’s screams are never ending; they’ll echo around the students’ minds as much as they will Hugh’s. It’s the kind of murder that sticks with a man, long after its over; follows them through life and tells them that they are not the kind of man they thought they were.

Hugh isn’t the kind of man he thought he’d be.

This isn’t where he believed he’d end up; justifiably tearing a kid to pieces for his complaints. Wolverine slows his attacks, the body practically string cheese in front of him, a sopping wet mess of red and pink. Logan breathes heavily, chest rising and falling.

“I am not meant to be king,” he whispers. “I never was…” Hugh pauses and then turns to the door, the front half of him drenched in red, the back entirely clean. Then he leaves, tracking bloody footprints as he goes.

_What a tortured man,_ Peter thinks. _What a tortured soul._

He looks at MJ. “Didn’t you have a go yet?” he asks, jabbing a thumb over at the hammer.

She shrugs. “I’m not worthy, it’s cool. I don’t need to know that.”

“But what if you are!” Ned cries. “You need to check. Mr Thor Lord King Sir! MJ hasn’t had a turn yet!”

“OH! YOUNG M OF J. HERE, HAVE YOUR TURN.” He holds out the hammer towards her and she sighs, flipping her notebook shut from where she’d been drawing Flash’s distraught expression as he was murdered, and tucks it under her arm.

“Alright,” she says, mild, and grabs onto the handle. Thor lets go and—nothing happens. She simply holds the hammer.

The class silences. MJ stares at the hammer. Thor stares at MJ. The hammer doesn’t stare at all, as it has no eyes.

“YOUNG M OF J,” Thor bellows. “YOU HAVE BEEN JUDGED WORTHY BY MJOLNIR. YOU MUST COME WITH ME AT ONCE!”

“Come where?” Michelle asks, testing the weight of the hammer in her hand. She flips it experimentally and catches it right after.

“WHY, ASGARD OF COURSE! YOU ARE TO BE CROWNED KING. OR, UH, QUEEN.”

“King is fine,” Michelle says with a wave of her hand. “Like Elizabeth Swan. King of Pirates. You really want me to rule Asgard with you?”

“WANT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH IT,” Thor replies, and Peter’s sure he’s getting louder with every word. “YOU ARE DESTINED. YOU ARE CHOSEN. COME WITH ME, M OF J.”

“Just MJ,” she corrects, as a rightfully confused Miss Clarke steps forward.

“I’m sorry, your, uh, your highness, but Michelle can’t come with you. You need her parent’s permission.”

“Oh!” Samantha says. “It was on the permission slips we sent to your school.” She produces one from the clipboard she’s been carrying all day. “ _In the event that your child has been deemed worthy by Mjolnir, Thor Odinson’s hammer, you consent to your child being taken to Asgard, where they will be properly trained to sit on the throne and rule beside the God of Thunder._ If Michelle’s parent or guardian signed the permission slip, they’ve given consent.”

Miss Clarke blinks as MJ smiles.

“Sweet,” she says, twirling the hammer and moving to Thor’s side. “Do you guys have wifi? And a better public education system?”

“OH MJ,” Thor replies, leading her to the balcony. “WE HAVE ALL MANNER OF THINGS. YOU WILL BE TAUGHT PROPER ROYAL ETIQUETTE, ALL SPEAK – SO YOU MAY TALK TO WHICHEVER ANIMAL OR BEING YOU SO WISH – AND HOW TO PROPERLY SLAUGHTER YOUR ENEMIES AND LOOK GOOD DOING IT.”

MJ nods appreciatively. “Cool. I’ll see you guys during Spring Break!”

The class waves goodbye as Thor takes back the hammer and leads MJ outside. He calls up to Heimdall and then the two vanish in a wall of rainbow light.

“Well!” Samantha announces. “Wasn’t that exciting! Onwards!”

Samantha leads them down a few hallways until they get to a lab that looks unlike anything else in Stark Town. It almost looked like Wakandan technology, if anyone outside of Wakanda really knew what Wakandan technology looked like. But they don’t so it doesn’t. 

Princess Shuri is still there, though.

“Your Highness!” Samantha greets, giving a dramatic bow. A few of the other students awkwardly follow suit. “What an unexpected surprise!” 

Shuri throws up a peace sign as she introduces herself. “What up, I’m Jared, I’m 19, and I never fucking learned how to read.”

Samantha turns back to the class and elaborates, “It’s not every day the princess comes to visit in the labs. Rumor has it that her trips to New York have a lot to do with being friends with Spider-Man.”

Ned leans into Peter’s side, whispering in awe, “Is that _true!?”_

Peter simply just points to Shuri from across the room. She points back with a declaration of “I love you BITCH. I ain’t never gonna stop loving you, BITCH.”

He winks, putting his hands together in the shape of a heart before he looks back at Ned and shrugs. “Guess so.”

“We’re from Midtown on a tour of the facilities,” Samantha explains. “Would you be so kind as to tell us what you’re working on right now?”

Shuri nods before gesturing to her lab. “Welcome to my keetchen. We have bahnanies. And avaocadies.”

The class looks around. There are no bahnanies or avocadies. There aren’t even regular bananas or avocados. But Shuri presses forward and the class follows until they come up to a complicated holographic map of equations.

The speakers start blasting the instrumental of Nickelback’s _Photograph_ before Shuri announces, “Look at this graph.”

The music cuts off abruptly, leaving the class to look at a very complicated graph that they can’t understand. 

“Free Shavacadoo,” Shuri says.

Harley leans into Peter and whispers, “I think she really wants an avocado or something.”

Then suddenly, Shuri’s eyes blow wide. “Stop!” she shouts, pointing to the back of the group where Flash has gone off to mess with something he definitely shouldn’t be messing with. “I could have dropped my croissant!”

Flash holds up the Wakandan tech, baffled. “This isn’t a croissant.”

“Can I get a waffle?” Shuri begs. “Can I _please_ get a waffle?”

“It’s not a waffle - damn, lady, what’s wrong with you?” Flash scoffs. “Did you skip breakfast? Why are you talking like that? It’s like you’re a cyborg or something.”

Suddenly, Shuri’s eyes narrow. “What the fuck is up, Kyle? No, what did you say? Step the FUCK up, Kyle!”

Flash’s face scrunches in mockery. “My name’s not Kyle, idiot.”

The bracelets on Shuri’s wrists start to glow a faint purple. Peter knows that look. It’s the look of high tech powering the fuck up. She nods to Flash and says, “This is why Mom doesn’t FUCKING love you!”

That one hits a little too close to home, if Flash’s face is anything to go by. But his anger snaps back tenfold, and he holds the Wakandan tech close to his chest. “You don’t know shit, lady. You’ve got nothing on me.”

Shuri’s smirk is absolutely lethal as she fiddles with her bracelet and the glow intensifies. “I’m a bad bitch. You can’t kill me.”

That’s enough to send Flash running. He begins to sprint, Shuri’s tech still in his hands, as the princess follows at a more relaxed, confident pace.

“Why are you running?” she asks. “WHY are you running?” They both disappear out of the lab.

There’s the sound of a blaster, a scream, and the splattering of blood up on the glass walls of Shuri’s lab.

She returns moments later, her face freckled in blood as well, before giving the whole class one final look over. “Y’all ugly,” she decides before she does a little dance, snaps her fingers, and disappears into a puff of smoke.

The class goes bonkers. 

“What the _fuck - “_

“What just happened?”

“How did she -?!”

Peter, however, remains calm as both Ned and Harley look to him for answers. “Heart-shaped herb,” he answers. “Gives you magical powers. Or is it...the power of magicians...I can’t remember. They’re only grown in Wakanda. And certain parts of Tennessee, if you’d believe.”

Harley perks up. “Where?”

“Sunflower Valley? No, maybe...Orchid Mountain? No….”

“....Rose Hill?”

“I’m talking about real places, Harley. Come on now.”

“Well,” Samantha exclaims. Her voice is perky, but her eyes can’t seem to peel themselves away from the blood smattering on the walls. “Let’s move on, shall we? Stank Town is a very big place, and we haven’t got all day! Our next stop is quite a ways away.”

They take five steps outside of Shuri’s lab.

“Ah, here we are,” Samantha says, smiling. “The vents. And a very special guest to tour them with you!”

“Is it Hawkeye?” Ned asks.

“No, but that would make total sense! Here’s your special tour guide…” she pulls down the cover of a vent to reveal Peter inside, decked out in his Spiderman gear that smelt a little like Tony Stank’s cologne. He didn’t know why exactly, but he wasn’t complaining.

“Hey!” Spiderman greeted.

“Is that Tony Stank again?” a student asked, and Peter frowned, sliding out of the vent.

“Of course not! See?” He did a backflip and basked in the gasps. “Now, let’s take you kids on a tour of the vents! Everybody, follow me!”

It takes a hot minute, but Peter - uh, Spiderman - manages to get everyone up in the vents. “These are abnormally...large,” Harley points out as he crawls at the back of the pack. “In fact…”

He stops and attempts to stand up. His head doesn’t even touch the top.

“Yeah, I can stand in these.”

“Of course,” Peter/Spiderman explains. “How else will Hawkeye’s family live here?”

“Excuse me?”

They turn a sharp corner to find a giant nest, where five people sit: Clint Barton, his wife, and three children. The group of them are huddled around Clint, who is currently holding a bundle of grapes, taking turns to toss them in each of their mouths.

“What are you looking at?” he asks, throwing a grape at Peter. He catches it in his mouth with ease. “I told you I didn’t want to be a part of your stupid tour.”

“Sorry,” Spiderman apologizes. “We’ll just be going now.” Peter stomps on the bottom of the vent and the bottom buckles out - the class and Clint’s entire nest come tumbling out.

“Aw, man,” Clint clicks his tongue. “Now I gotta rebuild it.”

“Don’t worry,” Peter says to all his classmates. “This happens like, every week.”

Flash raises his hand like he’s going to ask a question, but thinks otherwise, lowering it slowly. That is until he looks around and sees that someone is missing. “Hey, where did Penis Parker go?” he asks, dusting himself off. He picks out a piece of straw from the nest out of his hair, as well as one down the back of his jacket.

“What?” says a voice that Flash doesn’t recognize.

“I said, where did Penis Parker go? He disappeared right when Spiderman showed up which like, happens _all the time -”_ Flash stops with a squeak as he turns around, face to face with Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes, the famous War Machine. 

Rhodey has his eyes narrowed in disgust. “What the fuck did you just fucking say about Peter, you little bitch?”

Flash pales. “I, uh -”

Rhodey steps closer, gaining a threatening distance on the kid. “ I’ll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Navy Seals, and I’ve been involved in numerous secret raids on Al-Quaeda, and I have over 300 confirmed kills. I am trained in gorilla warfare and I’m the top sniper in the entire US armed forces. You are nothing to me but just another target. I will wipe you the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my fucking words.”

“Mr. Rhodes - Uh, Colonel, sir,” Flash stutters. He looks behind him for help, but all his classmates are just as sick-looking as he is. “It was just a joke, you know? A silly little nickname!”

Rhodey pokes his finger into Flash’s chest. “You think you can get away with saying that shit to me? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of spies across the USA and your IP is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You’re fucking dead, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can kill you in over seven hundred ways, and that’s just with my bare hands.” He flexes said hands, staring at them like they’re still covered in his enemy’s blood.

Flash swallows thickly, like he’s trying to choke down vomit.

“Yikes,” Peter says as he yanks his mask off, he brushes back some of his sweaty hair and takes a swig from Ned’s water bottle before he puts the mask back on. “This is getting kinda bad.”

All eyes are still on Rhodey. “Not only am I extensively trained in unarmed combat, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the United States Marine Corps and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the continent, you little shit. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little ‘clever’ comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue.” 

Rhodey starts to corner Flash into a corner like a predator about to feast on his prey.

“But you couldn’t,” Rhodey growls, “You didn’t, and now you’re paying the price, you goddamn idiot. I will shit fury all over you and you will drown in it.”

He shoves Flash into a wall, raises his fist.

“You’re fucking dead, kiddo.”

The class looks on, cringing like one does when they are about to witness a beating, when there’s a sharp whistle from the other side of the room. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” everyone freezes and turns to see Tony Stark walking in, clearly looking concerned. “What is going on here, man?”

Rhodey gives Flash another shove. “Tell him what you said, kid. Go on.”

Flash, about to shit his pants, does as he’s asked. “I called Peter Parker _Penis Parker,_ sir.”

Tony frowns. “You called my intern _Penis Parker?”_

“....Yes?”

Silence.

And then, Tony laughs.

“Penis Parker! Hah! That’s pretty good!” He turns to Spiderman, claps him on the back. “Why didn’t you tell me that one. That’s hilarious.” He looks back at Flash, all smiles, as he holds up his hand. “Come on, high five. Give it to me.”

Flash lights up and practically skips over, elated with the idea of giving the great Iron Man a high five. 

Everything happens in slow motion. Literally. Peter’s sure there’s an Avenger involved.

Tony’s hand becomes encased in metal, slowly, as nanites wrapping around his fingers at snail pace. Like water, like _poetry,_ the colors of the room fade into soft ambers, the light dancing across Tony’s cheek as a single tear rolls down his cheek, glimmering like a diamond. The room quiets almost like a _song,_ almost like -

MJ leans into Peter and asks: “Do you hear -” She points to the corner of the room where a piano has materialized. “Is Hugh Jackman playing Moonlight Sonata?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

Flash’s eyes go wide as saucers - the whites of his eyes catch fire in the setting sun that shoots through the panoramic glass windows, only to brighten into a light blue as the light bouncing off of the gauntlet overpowers it and then the room is nothing but _white -_

A single blast echoes off into the room. Flash goes flying into the grand piano before he breaks through the glass that sparkles in the afternoon sun as it shatters.

Tony waits until they all hear the distinct sound of a car roof concaving before continuing. “And that concludes today’s anti-bullying program. I guess.” The room is quiet for a moment, and then Tony claps his hands. “Alright! Let’s get you kiddos out of here and back on your school bus. I promoted Happy Hogan from cars to buses this week, so he’ll take you back. This way to the lobby.”

He gestures towards a set of double doors and kicks a piece of the broken vent aside. “Clint,” he says, pointing to it. “You have home insurance, right?”

It’s as they reach the lobby and the end of the day; Jessica Jones still angrily stapling her desk, Samantha the tour guide still following dutifully along, that Captain America appears once again, all dressed up in his famous 2012 outfit that does nothing for his ass. He wanders in, the shield slung casually over his back, and smiles at the students as they file out towards the door.

“Ah, the field trip!” he says, his voice reminding Peter distinctly of blueberry pie and illegal fireworks on Independence Day. “Did you all have a good day?”

There are murmurs of assent throughout the class, and Peter nods his head with the rest of the students. The trip could’ve gone worse; Michelle was whisked away to be the new ruler of Asgard, Flash was killed only six times, and he even got to meet Spiderman! He shouldn’t have been so worried about the trip; Uncle Pool had told him to be optimistic, and Peter should’ve listened. Uncle Pool was usually right.

“No,” a voice says, cutting through the happy students’ murmurs. “I didn’t.”

Captain America frowns, his American Eagle-like gaze cutting through the group like a knife might cut through a pie. It lands squarely on Flash Thompson. “I’m sorry to hear that,” Cap says through gritted teeth. “What was wrong with your tour?”

“What was _wrong?_ ” Flash asks, exasperated. “Well, first off, that angry secretary _murdered_ me! And then Wolverine did, too!” Standing with the students, in his Decathlon yellow blazer, Hugh Jackman nods.

“Don’t forget Falcon,” Harley Keener says. “And Tony Stark. Black Widow.” He counts them off on his fingers. “Not to mention the princess of Wakanda.”

Ned looks over with a frown. “Why are you here? You don’t even go to school with us.”

Flash huffs. “This has been a--a _bad day_ . A bad field trip. You--” he shoves his finger towards Samantha “--are a _bad tour guide_.”

“Hey now, son,” Captain America said, all the righteousness and passion in his voice that Americans believed the country deserved, “let’s not be _fucking rude._ You know, I don’t know a single thing about you, not even your name, but I hate you so thoroughly I’m rethinking my stance on the death penalty.”

Flash gulps. “What was your stance before?”

“Negative,” Cap replies. “Now I’m thinking it was made specifically for you. It’s almost as if you never even watched my Grammy Award winning series: _Rappin’ With Cap,_ in which I spent thirty-three seven minute PSAs teaching you how not to be a shit stain of a human being.”

“I watched them,” Flash says.

“And you didn’t learn a thing.” Cap sighs, shaking his head forlornly. “There’s only so much you can do for someone who doesn’t learn.”

And with that, Captain America murders Flash in the lobby.

The moments afterwards are long, drawn-out, in slow motion with an eagle soaring through the background, away from an explosion. The American flag lowers from the ceiling and waves majestically behind Cap as he pulls back his fist. He’d knocked out Adolf Hitler over two hundred times with his signature punch, and now he used it lethally against a terrible teenage boy with a bad attitude.

_Wow,_ Peter thinks as he watches Flash’s body slump against the ground, the students and SI employees in the lobby giving Cap a standing ovation, _now that’s an American hero._

As everyone cheers - Wolverine, Jessica Jones, Tony Stark, Ned Leeds, Hugh Jackman - Captain America turns his gaze on Peter, and says in his infamous PSA voice: “So, you’ve just witnessed a homicide--"

Peter wakes up, breathing heavily.

“Oh my god,” he mutters, rubbing his fists into his eyes. _What the hell was all that?_ A field trip to Stark Industries? What a ridiculous idea that was - everything was confidential in that building! Not to mention the fact that the _princess of Wakanda_ would have no business being there. Peter almost laughs at the thought. At least MJ was still on Earth--though Peter did wonder who the hell that lady at the receptionist desk was. And--did he see Wolverine recently in a movie about a circus?

Shaking his head, Peter pulls himself out of bed and towards the door.

“May!” he calls, flinging the door open. “You won’t _believe_ the dream I just had!”

“May’s not home, sweetie,” a voice says, and Peter walks into the living room to find Deadpool, decked out in all his gear, including the mask, stretched out across the sofa, where he smudged blood against the cushions from where it was still damp on his suit. “She’s gone to work already. But why don’t you tell me about your dream and I’ll make you up some breakfast?”

Peter sighs, flopping down onto the sofa beside him.

“Well, Uncle Pool, it went like this…”

**Author's Note:**

> *captain america PSA voice* : so, you made it to the end of this fic.


End file.
